To Love Someone
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Moving through stages of life with Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle. GSR. M rating as of Chapter 2. A short story...
1. Chapter 1

**To Love Someone**

 **Chapter 1**

Slowly, climbing from the depths of a deep stupor, Gil Grissom felt he was struggling up a mud-slick slope, only to slip back every time he touched consciousness. His right arm, tucked underneath his chest, was stiff and refused to move for a minute or two. Vaguely, he thought if he moved his arm, he might return to reality. Slowly, his hand found his face. Finally, he managed to open his eyes.

Seeing red, he shook his head, blinked his eyes twice, and managed to run his hand over his face before his brain focusedand his memory gathered bits and pieces to bring him fully awake. The red was the pillow under his head. He rolled to his back, found his feet tangled in a light-weight coverlet and kicked it off.

His shoes were no longer on his feet; he couldn't remember removing them.

The room was almost completely dark but pale slivers of light reflected by a mirror gradually brought the furniture into focus. The fog of deep sleep lifted and he clearly remembered. Ornate draperies hung from tall windows and dark furniture in the room combined to create a dignified gloominess. Good for sleeping, he thought. But not a place he wanted to stay.

Slowly, he sat up, folding the blanket haphazardly into a compact roll and placing it on the pillow.

Several minutes passed as he sat on the bed, surprised to find that he felt rested for the first time in weeks. He checked his watch; seven hours had passed since he had lain on this strange bed; he'd been asleep almost that long.

His eyes found the wooden chair, returned to the corner of the room, after Heather Kessler had sat by the bed. His hand raked through his hair and across his face as he remembered her words.

Earlier, before offering him a bed, she had said relationships were often over before they ended. And then, in the bedroom, she'd wanted to talk about Sara and relationships.

"People think love last forever," she said. "We all think that. It can last a long time, even after the other person has gone away, one can still love…"

He'd stopped her.

"Tell me about your granddaughter—or your practice." He had almost added, "You don't know Sara" but he'd kept quiet.

She had talked about Allison and he'd gone to sleep during the one-sided dialogue about the child's school.

In his sleep, he'd dreamed and now, reaching for his shoes, he smiled. His life was filled with baggage: a condo, a dog, his mother, a career. In his dream, he'd changed, decided to let things sort themselves out, and he had, in his sleep, made a decision.

Maybe it was time for his dream to come true.

Slipping his feet into his shoes, he shoved off the bed and almost missed the folded piece of notepaper that fluttered to the floor.

A note; Heather had written: 'Dance lessons with Allison. Food is in the kitchen. Good luck whatever you do.'

Instinctively knowing the house was empty, he found a bathroom and then wandered to the kitchen where he found a covered plate filled with pastries and a bowl of fruit. He decided to skip the offer of food.

He knew he could stay until Heather returned, but decided to leave—neither was the kind of friend who needed goodbyes. Writing a short note on the one she'd left him, he propped it against the fruit bowl.

Walking through the house, he reflected on the story he had heard from Heather about this house. She'd purchased it, along with most of the heavy, dark furniute, from the estate of the original owner. It had been built by a wealthy man from Chicago but his family had neglected the house until the roof needed to be replaced and Heather had arranged a satisfying purchase for buyer and seller. She'd smiled when he described the house "English tutor".

"I don't see it as a particular style," she'd said. "I like to think of it as an extraordinary house."

Grissom had laughed at her words; certainly a good description from an extraordinary woman. Silently, he counted the years since he had met Heather Kessler and remembered the occasion. It did not happen to him often, but when he had met Heather, he felt a current of fellow feeling emanating from her to him. Later, years later, he had read about it—actually quite common—when two people met and instantly got along; possibly subconscious, sensing of sympathetic chemicals, which led to rapport, a friendship—possibly to love.

He'd found friendship with Heather; he'd found love, too, an instant connection with a woman who was blissfully unaware of her generosity, her kindness, her beauty.

Now, as he eased the front door closed, he knew his future was with the person he loved.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Rating changed...enjoy!**

 **To Love Someone**

 **Chapter 2**

Grissom woke in a narrow bed that squeaked of plastic and cheap stuffing, surrounded by drab olive green canvas walls and a metal roof. A rainstorm obliterated all other sounds. The two windows, covered in mesh, were open and from one, he could see a bar of sky, lead colored and filled with rain.

He lifted a shoulder; the bed moaned and creaked with the slight movement.

The woman beside him made a soft, contented sigh, snuggled into her pillow, and remained asleep.

Smiling, he thought, 'She's always been able to sleep like the dead after…' And he remembered the night—at least four times—they had made quiet, passionate love. He blew a deep puff of air as he thought: they had gone through a package of condoms in two nights, and last night, there was only one silver packet.

He had held it up; Sara, who had always been meticulous about birth control, had laughed before saying, "Come on, big guy, it's—we'll be fine."

Sex with the woman he loved always made him intensely happy resulting in deeply amorous feelings that he had experienced only with her. The added sensation of flesh-on-flesh always took his breath, made him aware of the intimacy of love making—and last night, they had been taken by surprise at a shared perceptiveness—he'd voiced it first.

In a whisper, he'd said, "We should have a baby." Stoked by passion, he had surprised himself. Unspoken were his thoughts; when he took his last breath, he wanted the comfort of knowing she would not be alone. His child—their child—their children—would be holding her hand as he passed from this earth.

Sara had responded with kisses and tears and an enthusiastic agreement.

After a few hours of sleep, he woke to find her warm hand reaching for him and without a word, he had needed no encouragement to fulfill her desire. Now, his hands wanted to touch her, to feel the softness of her skin, to slip his fingers between velvet folds—and with that thought, his body responded with a bolt of fire that made his manhood rise to attention.

He'd definitely have to wait for coffee.

As if she'd read his mind, Sara rolled to face him, her eyes open. She wiggled her hips against his as she murmured, "Once more before the sun is up?"

He scooted, nudging his knee between her legs. He said, "You may wear this old guy out—it doesn't appear the sun is coming out today."

With his words, hard rain began to pelt the canvas awnings and metal roof.

A soft giggle and a whisper, "The sun will come out. The others will eventually get up." Her lips moved along his jaw to his ear, down his neck, across his shoulder before she lifted her face to his and kissed him, deeply, passionate, tenderly. Her tongue touched his teeth, swept across his top lip in quick flicks that aroused him even further. His hips rose as she pushed above him; he felt her nipples against his chest as her hand wrapped around his erection. With a swift, satisfying movement, he was inside her, ready to explode with one quick thrust.

Just as quickly, she lifted away from him; her knees pushed her body upward as he felt her fingertip caress the head of his penis. Her hand stroked down, up, down, fondling his balls.

He wanted to scream; if her mouth had not been against his, he knew he would have sounded like a howling monkey. His hands found the cleft of her butt, his fingers found her damp center. 'Dear God', he thought—or did he say the words—'I've got to be inside you.'

And then he was; the silky, sensitive sensation of being wrapped in this amazing miracle of sex with the woman he loved made him lose all self-control and in minutes he plunged into a climax that sent waves of electric passion throughout his body. His brain seemed to catch fire as explosion after explosion sent his fluids deep within this warm and welcoming core. With little awareness, the last thrusts of his hips had a similar effect on Sara.

She gasped; her mouth pressed against his in a silent cry of intense ecstasy as he felt her grip him in a furious embrace.

In the last seconds of consciousness, he did something he had not done in years; he prayed to a god he had long ignored.

Hours later, they woke within minutes of each other; both smiling, contented, happy with life even as rain poured in sheets outside their canvas room.

Eventually, they made their way to the central open area that served as dining room, work space, and gathering area for the group of researchers. A few people sat at tables, working on projects while eating breakfast and drinking coffee. Most, as Grissom and Sara had done, were enjoying a rare day of leisure because of the heavy downpour. As they drank coffee, Grissom placed his arm around Sara's shoulders. This was a wild and beautiful place; jungle descended into a practically impenetrable forest. Vast spreads of green that were tops of trees rippled in the wind. Occasionally, there was a splash of color from the many flowers that bloomed all year.

This was tropical, he thought, where rain storms turned a babbling tickle of water into a torrent of rushing rapids.

Beside him, Sara's arm stretched, finger pointing. She said, "There in the tree—a family. Do you see the baby?"

He found the Capuchin monkeys, clustered together under broad leaves that served as an umbrella. A very small baby clung to its mother.

With a chuckle, he said, "I can see how we are related." He pulled her close, kissed her forehead and said, "Maybe we should get married—here—soon."

Startled, Sara looked at him with wide, surprised eyes. "Here?"

He shrugged, saying, "Yes, here—we can find someone who can marry us—make it legal—husband and wife." He kissed her again—on the mouth—and felt, more than heard, her word:

"Yes."

A/N: Let us know if you are reading! Thanks so much to those who leave a word, note, message, review!


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: New, longer chapter...enjoy!**_

 **To Love Someone**

 **Chapter 3**

Gil Grissom thought she was beautiful; lying beside him, her pale, smooth skin visible above the bed sheet, dark erect nipples he wanted to touch. He wanted to place his hand on her chest to feel her heart beat.

His wife opened her eyes.

"You're awake." He moved his hand to rest against her face. He knew these afternoons were coming to an end; in ten days, she would leave him. Gently, his fingers caressed her cheek. "I'm afraid I rushed things."

Her face bloomed as she smiled. "Rushed? No, not at all." She rolled against him, lifted her head and kissed his lips. "I'm going to miss you," she whispered.

"We'll be good—this is a fortunate turn of events—we can look at it that way."

"I never thought I'd return—return to work."

Her head settled against his shoulder as his arm wound around her, kissing her forehead. He said, "What if we look for a new place? A house—with a yard—one of those you like with lots of windows and light."

When she remained quiet, he continued, "You can decorate it—any way you like—lots of plants." He took a deep breath before whispering, "Plenty of room."

With fingers as light as gossamer, she touched his chest, moving up to his throat and his chin. "We don't know if there will…"

His arm tightened around her as he said, "There was once—the doctor said that's a good sign." He kissed her, slowly, pulling her to his face so their lips met. His fingers combed through her hair for several moments as each reflected on the past months.

"We did manage to get married," he said. Feeling her quiet sigh, he continued, "It won't be long and I'll be back home." Another long silence. "We'll have a family—a little girl who looks like you. I'd like that."

Sara raised her head so she could look into his eyes. Her fingertips moved across his face, tracing along his lips, the cleft of his chin. With a weak smile, she said, "A boy—we might have a boy."

"Two—one of each," he whispered.

Her eyes. Simply dark eyes when he glanced at her but in the intimacy of their bed, they were luminous, colored a rich, incredibly warm shade of chestnut brown with flecks of gold that could be fiery or serene. The combination of those eyes and her quick, gentle smile had always had a powerful effect on him.

He smiled, pleased they were looking forward; they'd had some sad days following their sudden loss—almost before they had known Sara was pregnant, she wasn't.

This place had helped them regain a sense of balance, a happiness as a couple in a place filled with history. The small apartment in an old residence hotel where others lived a temporary life for a few months, even a few years, met their short-term needs.

Who needed space when the entire city of Paris was waiting to be explored?

Most mornings, they walked to the Seine, spent time gazing at the river, and then found one of several favorite restaurants for breakfast; places that were fragrant with aromas of bread and coffee, that used silverware and china cups, and waiters who had made a profession of serving food.

By mid-morning, he would be in a classroom or lab at the university while Sara wandered narrow streets and wide boulevards along with thousands of tourists. One night, she had described Paris as a city with a door left open into heaven. He had agreed.

Suddenly, he had a thought. He said, "Let's go away for the weekend—some place in the country—or by the ocean."

Sara immediately perked up, lifting her head and resting her chin on her palm. "Oh! That's a great idea! I'd like that. We haven't been to the beach since coming to France." A quick frown; she said, "Do you think we can find a place in August?"

He nodded. "I know someone—let me make a call."

Minutes later, he'd written down a number for a place on the Normandy coast. As he punched the numbers on his phone, he said, "Wilkinson said we can borrow his car—thinks we'll love this place."

After a series of slow-deliberate questions and responses in tourist-French, Grissom was smiling and agreeing in English to whatever was said. After disconnecting, he said, "We have a room with a view from Thursday to Sunday including three meals of our choice—restaurant, in room, or picnic."

Sara had snuggled next to him, arm over his chest. She asked, "What's the view?"

Grissom chuckled. "I have no idea—maybe the coast?"

Two days later, he managed to double-park the small Renault in the street while Sara came downstairs with their two bags. Once seated beside him, she gave him a smile that was delightfully cheeky.

"Onward, Jeeves! Northward bound!" She laughed, a warm, intimate sound to his ears.

For two hours, he drove, sometimes at a snail's pace, sometimes on a fast, clear road. Out of the city, lush fields of golden grains, purple and yellow flowers, and apples trees spread as far as eyes could see.

Turning off the highway using handwritten directions, they were soon lost in a small village. After circling the village square for the second time, Sara asked for directions from a group of men.

One spoke English well enough to give new, complicated directions and in a short time, they left the village on another road driving in what both thought was the wrong direction and laughing as they speculated where they would end up.

After driving through the countryside, seeing nothing but pastures and a few cows, the narrow road dipped and then climbed a ridge where the unexpected view was so spectacular it caused Grissom to stop the car.

"He said it was a beautiful drive," Sara said, her voice hushed in awe.

A verdant green carpet spread before them for miles before disappearing at the edge of a turquoise sea; towering chalk cliffs rose from the edge of the water. A pebbly beach, marked with colorful sun umbrellas, made a long arc where the cliffs ended. And nestled along the beach was a small town—a village—their destination.

As Grissom drove into the parking area of the small hotel, the crunch of gravel was hidden by the sound of breaking waves. The building, a three-story house, was built of stone and timbers; curtains stirred at open windows. Inside the hotel, the smell of furniture polish mixed with salty air and the hint of baking bread caused both to smile as Grissom registered at the desk.

Their upstairs room was actually two rooms, a sitting area with a small balcony and a larger bedroom; the walls, the rugs, the fabrics were blue and cream. At one end of the bedroom, a folding screen concealed a stone soaking tub large enough for two people.

When they were alone, Sara hugged her husband and said, "It's beautiful!" Then she explored, asking, "How on earth does one get a stone tub inside this room?"

Grissom laughed as opened doors to the balcony. "The rooms are nice—now check out this view."

Downstairs at dinner, in a room filled with plants, wicker chairs, white table tops, and several quiet couples, they ate delicious soup and cheese, grilled vegetables and salad; Grissom ate trout boned at the table. After a walk on the beach in lingering daylight, they returned to their room for Sara to discover the bathtub filled with steaming water fragrant with the scent of lavender.

"You told someone!" She exclaimed as her hand tested the water.

Smiling, Grissom said, "Of course, I did—especially after the trout—and we haven't had a real bath in months."

The Paris apartment had a small bathroom with a minuscule shower and now, Grissom remembered the enjoyment of watching Sara bathe. In seconds, she stripped clothes off and left them piled on the floor.

"Join me," she insisted.

"In a few minutes," he said before pulling a chair near the tub. He watched as she climbed into the tub, giving a tremendous sigh as she disappeared underneath the water.

A few seconds later, her head appeared; a smile on her face. She said, "This is incredible, magnificent." Drawing her knees up, she motioned with her hand. "Come in. Lots of room! We can soak together."

In truth, pausing at the edge was something Grissom enjoyed so he stayed in the chair watching Sara sink below the water, stretching her body the length of the tub before surfacing again.

"Come in," she pleaded. "It is heavenly!"

Once in the tub, he knew how quickly a soak would turn into something else. He took his time closing curtains and turning off the lights in the bedroom before taking off his clothes. He even took time to hang his clothes in the closet before he stepped into the tub and then counted to twenty before he lowered his body into the tub.

Stroking her back, using the backs of his fingers, he listened carefully to her breathing. A responsive lover, he let her led him to places where she liked to be touched; her shoulders, her neck, the inside of her thighs. Slowly, with gentle familiarity, they found each other, found a way to encourage and fit into place with each other.

He wanted their lovemaking to go on and on and eventually, they managed to get out of the tub and into the soft bed. A long kiss as they climbed under the coverlet; her hands on his back, urging him on, as he entered her and the kiss ended as she breathed a soft "oh".

 _A/N: Thank you for reading! Another special thanks to those who review!_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Thank you for reading...thank you for your comments and reviews!**_

 **To Love Someone**

 **Chapter 4**

Gil Grissom placed a bowl and a plate on the small table and moved his book to his reading chair. The house was quiet; he could hear movement from the open double doors as he returned to the small kitchen.

He loved this place; the house had been built for someone else, another family, fifty years ago, but he and Sara had made it theirs. No, he corrected his thoughts; Sara had made it theirs. A long house with a design that had remained popular; everything was balanced with windows that caught sunlight and breezes, rooms planned and built with purpose. It was beautifully crafted; they had searched for furnishings appropriate for the house—and he felt it was home.

Pouring drinks for two, he hurried back to the long, shaded gallery along the back of the house. A few minutes later, his wife appeared, followed by their large dog.

The top of Sara's head was wrapped turban-style with a white towel, her hair still wet after a long and blissful bath in the deep Japanese soaking tub they had installed in the house. Her skin glowed and smelled of lavender after washing the dirt and grime out of her pores and her hair. She wore one of the shirts he'd brought from Peru; soft cotton, long-sleeved, with four buttons on the placket. He'd worn one for days and found the style to be one of the most comfortable shirts he had ever found. Back home, Sara had decided to make it hers—and she wore it well.

His entire face smiled.

A sandwich, a salad, and a glass of sparkling water waited for her. The dog sank to the floor near Sara's feet.

"I didn't mean to run your mom away—she could have stayed!" Sara said as she sat at the small table. "I love this part of the house." She was referring to the long, window-lined sunroom than ran along the back of the house. All the bedrooms and the den had doors that opened to the room, giving the house a spaciousness unseen from the front. Decades old trees provided dappled shade to the room.

"She's been here nearly all day—we had lunch together." Leaning over, he kissed her, saying, "She knows how much you work and wants us to have time together—you don't fool me." He chuckled, "you love this entire house."

With a nod, Sara bit into her sandwich, chewing slowly, closing her eyes as the flavor of tangy soft cheese and buttery avocado met her taste buds.

He said, "I appreciate all you've done. My mom is absolutely elated about the time you spend with her and said your signing was better than mine."

Quietly, Sara laughed. "She's sane—which my mother is not—and she and I have discovered we have a lot in common." She pointed to the back yard, adding, "We work in the flower beds. She seems to enjoy it. She loves Hank—he loves her. And we—we discuss things."

This time Grissom laughed, saying, "Both of you want me home; she is much more adamant than you—and she—she mentions a grandbaby every time I'm home."

Sara stirred her salad for a long moment before she said, "I haven't told her but I think she guessed."

Reaching across the table, he took her hand. "I—I wish this was easy."

Smiling, Sara air kissed him across the table. "We are unconventional—nothing has ever been 'usual' for us. Things will work out—if we are supposed to have a family, we will." She smiled and said, "It will take us longer but—we'll get there."

He nodded and then motioned for her to continue eating.

She had been the one to urge and then insist he take a position with an archeology group studying insect activity in ancient cultures while she remained in Vegas. Their mothers, their dog, this house, her job security, and continued efforts by other than usual means to have a baby kept their lives based in Las Vegas. This was home.

Feeling the nudge of muzzle against his calf, his hand moved to the dog where he smoothed ears and gave an affectionate pat to the soft coat. Hank was their dog but showed a preference for Sara now. Two or three times a week, his mother arrived to take Hank to her place where she fed him bits of beef and chicken—a secret Betty Grissom thought no one else knew.

Hank was a protective animal by instinct; it was in his blood to walk beside his owners, never in front or behind—something they had not taught him. And, most of the time, the dog shared their bed, stretching across the space at the foot of the bed.

When Sara finished her sandwich and pushed plate and bowl to one side, Grissom asked, "How'd it go?"

Sara wiped her mouth with a napkin while shaking her head. "Why do people kill? I'll never understand it." Stretching her arms above her head, she took the towel off and used it to dry her hair while she talked. "The housekeeper had been in the room three times—but one was no housekeeper. Walked right by three people in the sitting area of the suite and we got six descriptions! No one notices a housekeeper. Tall, short, brown hair, black hair, thin—they could not agree on her looks."

Grissom made a sound of agreement.

"Once Greg got the video, we could see the housekeeper was actually two different people—managed to track her right to the parking garage and as she got into her car. Didn't bother to hide her license so they arrested her at her home—rejected lover from two years ago. And now the press is having a field day with the mayor's assistant dead in a room at the Tropicana, killed with a knife to the heart by a former mistress."

Getting up, Grissom walked behind her, took the towel and finger-combed her hair. He asked, "How's Catherine doing?"

Sara gave a quiet laugh, leaned her head back so she faced him. She said, "She is no Gil Grissom—she's Catherine."

"How is she doing as supervisor?"

Remaining quiet for several minutes before responding, he knew she was trying to arrange her thoughts. "Be honest," he said.

Another quiet laugh; Sara said, "I'll be surprised if she stays supervisor. Not that she has said anything, but she misses being with us. She's still in the field, but she gets tangled in a lot of politics."

This time Grissom chuckled. "Something I do not miss."

For a while they sat together, talking at times but in comfortable silence until Sara yawned. "Come to bed for a while," she said.

Grissom needed no encouragement; their sleep routine had never been normal and he was fairly certain Sara did not plan to sleep for a while.

At some point, they made it to their bed; the dog gave a deep sigh as the door closed; a smart dog knew when he wasn't wanted or needed.

The soft shirt was removed, replaced by his hands and mouth, touching and kissing her in all the right places until her body quivered with need. His lips moved along her abdomen, to her thighs, finally to the apex of her legs. With every sweep of his tongue, her body shuddered until she arched her back, making a quick plea.

Responding by moving upward, quickly wiping his mouth before his lips met hers, he nudged into her; his erection felt as hot as a flash, electrical fire flaming up his spine to his brain. Time became a glorious blur in his mind.

Several days, turning into weeks, passed too quickly. They put off a certain conversation; were very determined to leave it to the future because they wanted to have as much time as they could. Sara went to work as usual, came home, and they made love in the morning or afternoon. She took a few days of leave; they watched movies, ate foods they enjoyed, took walks in the neighborhood and in the desert.

Finally, the time came when they had to talk about their future. An offer had been extended weeks ago which Grissom had accepted and the time had come to finalize details—thus the need for their conversation.

"I love you, Gil, with all my heart I love you. I'll take care of everything here—your mother and our dog and our house." She smiled, almost tearful, but blinked rapidly as she looked away from him. "I'll be here when you return."

 _A/N: We appreciate hearing from you! Gives us encouragement! GSR forever!_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Thank you for reading! Thank you for your comments and encouragement!**_

 **To Love Someone**

 **Chapter 5**

The _Blue Pearl_ was anything but pearl-like; it was a work boat long past its prime working years and she looked it. She had been built as an ocean-going vessel with a giant stern and multiple side cranes. Huge winches remained on deck but only one crane remained. In place of cranes the deck was covered with solar panels. The hull had been painted a turquoise blue with some white paint splashed on to take on the appearance of cresting waves. The painter had failed.

From bow to stern she stretched the length of a baseball field from home plate to second base and berthed thirty to forty scientists and crew in comfortable quarters that included a dining room and kitchen run by a first-rate chef.

It was an active ship, traveling as far north as Alaska's Aleutian Islands and south to the Auckland Islands of New Zealand, carrying scientists, who lived onboard, to study insect populations in remote areas. As the ship moved from place to place, the scientists and crew had seen environmental and marine devastation; on occasion, they had pulled in drift nets and trash, rescued sea turtles, reported injured sea life to marine-rescue groups and performed a few quiet and destructive events to send a message to poachers and pirates. No one ever suspected the nerdy scientists to be enviornmental guerilla fighters using surprise and secrecy in plain sight.

With its small crew, the scientists, most of whom signed on for three months of legitimate research, had learned various operations of running the ship and this was why Gil Grissom was standing with the ship's captain on the navigation bridge. All sorts of digital arrays, computers, and monitors were mounted on a long console that ran the length of expansive windows.

"Once you get the boat, you can find all kinds of equipment—lots more sophisticated than what's here. And smaller." The captain pointed to an automated panel. "You can get a unit that works by remote control—even voice controlled—that will be good for working by yourself."

"You don't think I've lost my mind?"

The captain chuckled before saying, "How long have you been out here? Going on two years? You've seen enough—enough to know what's going on and the best way to stop some of it will be as a loner."

"And Oregon is the best place?"

The captain nodded, saying, "Lots of boats for sale at a good price—no one asks many questions." The man adjusted a dial on one of the panels before saying, "There are several loosely knit groups along the west coast—you'll be able to find someone—a group who has objectives in line with yours."

Grissom turned a stool and sat down. He said, "There's so much that needs to be done—and a blind eye turned to most of it."

Again, the captain chuckled, saying, "Blind eyes, deaf ears. If I were to do something like you want to do, I'd travel up and down the coastline—so much goes on where there is a lot of shipping traffic. Oh—they may go out farther but the big cities is where their 'products' sell. We've seen how poachers take shark fins—but it's the tip of the iceberg."

Grissom stared out of the windows at the vast ocean as the captain checked several gauges and screens. When the captain returned to the stool near him, Grissom said, "I've always been a loner—at one time, I did enjoy the company of—of one particular person. But now, I'd be satisfied on a boat with my books."

"Divorced, right? Before you joined us?" When Grissom nodded, the captain asked. "Any kids?"

Grissom shook his head, saying, "No kids. Divorced before we—we had kids. I—I think I made her sad."

"Well, I've heard lots of reasons for divorce—sad is as good as any, I guess. Why divorce over being sad?"

Wiping a hand across his face, Grissom said, "She is the only person I've ever been with who understood me." Softly, he laughed, "We went fishing on our honeymoon—catch and release—she's a vegetarian. Every time I'd drop a hook in the water, I'd catch a fish. We were running out of bait—she took a worm and pinched it in half so I could keep fishing."

Laughing, the captain said, "You need to find this woman again and marry her, Gil! Why was she sad?"

Shaking his head, Grissom said, "We'd talk and she sounded so sad. We—we wanted kids and never had one—we both got involved in our work—got unavailable for phone calls. Missed visits—meet-ups or going home—and we grew apart until one day, I knew I needed to end it—she's younger than me. She had settled back into working at the lab."

With a cheerless laugh, he said, "She wanted to leave Vegas years ago and we both left for a while. We had friends, my mother, a dog in Vegas. She went back to work and somehow, after I left—we drifted apart."

The captain grunted before responding, "It takes work to remain married when there's a lot of separation—I should know. My first wife—she didn't like how I was gone all the time. But the second one—and we've got three kids—is like your woman with the fishing bait. A valuable person—and I'll love her until my last breath!"

...Six months later, Gil Grissom steered his boat into a slip in San Diego harbor. For a week, he'd followed another boat, larger than his, as the crew fished. Deliberately, slowly, he had followed the boat as the men killed shark after shark by cutting off fins, leaving the sharks to die. He had simply followed their bloody trail. Eighteen sharks by his count; he thought about calling for help, but when the boat took aim for San Diego harbor, he knew what he would do.

Determined to get the sons-of-bitches, he maneuvered his boat into the slip, tied up, and settled in to wait for darkness.

 _A/N: Thank you for reading-more to come! And we did make the separation as short as possible!_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** Thank you for reading! _

**To Love Someone**

 **Chapter 6**

" _The Encantadas"_ was first published in 1854, written by Herman Melville; the small book, called a novella at the time, covered Gil Grissom's face. The book was actually ten stories about different islands that made up the Galapagos Islands. He'd read the book several times, knew the stories almost word-for-word; today, he had put it in his bag because of its light weight and the probability that he would not read a word.

The book shaded his face but he did not sleep. The noises he heard were those of cheerful happiness so he let his mind float into the past.

...That day in the San Diego harbor, Grissom, upon seeing Sara, a warm and luminous vision in the bright rays of morning sun, knew his life was changing. He could remember his breath catching in his throat; his feet seemed rooted to the boat deck. An eternity passed before she was in his arms, his face pressed into her sweet-smelling hair. How many times had he dreamed of her this way? Her effect on him was complete, engaging every sense and nerve; an intoxication he had known for so long and he had carried with him ever since the day she had asked her first question.

They had hugged and smiled; they had kissed and laughed. They had loved each other and quietly spoken of dreams of the other. They had spent several days on the ocean before heading to the harbor in Los Angeles and the small house his mother had owned for years.

In that house, amid stacked boxes and furniture his mother had left in the house when she moved to Vegas, they had made plans as the familiar place had changed from a house where he seldom slept to the home he would share with the woman he loved. Over two weeks, they had basked in warmth and watered his plants that attracted bees and butterflies. They ate outside on the raised deck, sitting lazily on old canvas deck chairs which had been in storage above the garage for a decade.

Occasionally, Grissom had mentioned a research report; "it's about the islands," he'd said. Of course, she knew the islands because he had told her about the months he had spent tramping across the Galapagos Islands in search of invasive ants.

More than once, he had found her gazing at him, just gazing, and he would smile. Only once, he asked her what she was thinking and she had replied, "About you—I'm thinking about you." Said with a truthfulness of innocence that made him want to hold her.

Late one night, sitting under a city sky that never completely darkened, a feeling of peace and contentment came to him; a state he had missed.

A month from the date Sara had arrived on the dock, they returned to Las Vegas. Madeline Klein, now Judge Klein, met them at the courthouse, a smile spread across her face as she said, "This time it will last or I'm coming after both of you."

The entire team, along with Nick Stokes, watched as the official service of marriage was pronounced in abbreviated fashion; dinner and a celebratory party waited for them at the Eclipse Casino where, it seemed, most of the lab and half of the police force joined them.

They had remained in Vegas for two months; two months in a land-locked city made Grissom realize how much he missed salty air and the quiet freedom of sitting on his boat in the middle of a very large ocean.

Chuckling at his thoughts, he brought himself back to his surroundings as a delightful squeal reached his ears.

Five years since the day he knew his life would change—and, indeed, it had changed. They were reaching the end of his ninety-day research project at the Charles Darwin Research Station in Puerto Ayora. They had visited the Galapagos Islands—separately— and without hesitation, they had decided this trip should not be postponed.

Settling into the small apartment, they had been tourists for a week before Sara had ventured into the less-touristy part of town. She had returned with enough beans and rice to feed them for three months, captivated by the friendly locals and the ease of vegetarian grocery shopping.

Grissom removed the book and raised his head enough to see his wife standing in clear azure-colored water of the calm cove. The isolated beach was a two-mile walk from the nearest public access so few tourists made the trek. Today, there were other groups, widely spaced on the crescent of narrow beach, some, as he, were resting in the shade of mangrove trees.

Within an easy reach of Sara, three year old twins, Carson and Harper, were standing in four inches of clear, cool water, ruffles of waves splashing on their legs, as their mother pointed to a slivery fish darting around their feet. Carson had squealed while his sister had attempted to catch the fish with her hands.

Sara had scooped her daughter up as the child's face had touched the water. Grissom watched for several minutes as mother and daughter had brief, laughing words before Sara put Harper back into the water. Placing her hand on her son's shoulder, she said something to Carson who made the same tinkling peal of child laughter as his sister.

Propped up on his elbow watching his family, Grissom remembered the day when Sara announced she was pregnant—it had been an extended process but not as lengthy as others had experienced—with clear indications of twins. His response had been "I feel very responsible."

Sara turned, smiled, and waved to him, happiness blooming across her face. She never aged, he thought; she could easily pass for thirty instead of the middle of forty. As she turned, her shirt, wet after picking up Harper, clung to her body, molding across her round belly. In three months, they would add another child, a second son, to the family.

Pushing off the sand, he headed to her and his children, smiling, peaceful, content. He felt very responsible.

The End

 _A/N: Thank you for reading. Thank you to those who have written comments and supported our writing for so long! We enjoy hearing from everyone!_

 _Please take a few minutes to send a short message...we will respond to all who have private messaging set up about future plans. Again, thank you!_

 _Long live GSR!_


End file.
